Anything but Champagne
by Teafully
Summary: I can't escape my cravings. Whether its for alcohol, blood, or a healthy mix of the two, they've followed me to hell and back. Finally, I can act on those cravings. The catch? This time, no one can stop me... not even death itself. Hate is my fuel, and it will never run dry. MALE Reincarnated SI!OC as the king of alcohol himself. Frequent alcohol mentions. Semi-AU with some canon.
1. Crispin Original

**Posted: **November 6th, 2014

**Times Edited: **1

**Last Edited: **November 7th, 2014

Well, this one has been a _long time_ coming, and I thought I'd try it. _Nothing_ beats writing one of my favorite male characters ever… as a _male SI-OC-into-a-canon-character._

Please enjoy! I know it's short, but…

_Warning: Foul language, abuse mention, frequent (I mean, throughout the whole story) mentions of alcohol and crude descriptions of alcoholics that are not intended whatsoever to be offensive or necessarily true. Alcoholism is not the way to go, and if you or someone you know is suffering from this horrible way of life, please get some professional help before the lives of you, someone you know, or innocent family members and friends are ruined beyond repair._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One: Crispin Original<span>

_ABV (Alcohol By Volume):__ 5.00%_

_Style:__ Cider_

_Color:__ Golden_

_Description:__ Crispin Super Premium Hard Apple Cider is naturally fermented using a premium apple blend, with no added malt or spirit alcohol. Crispin's crisp flavor is smoothed with pure apple juice, with no added sugar, colorants or sodium or benzoate preservatives and cold filtered for crisp refreshment. It is advertised as "crisp, refreshing hard apple cider."_

* * *

><p>I didn't intend to become a raging alcoholic in my second life at <em>all<em>; in fact, it was the last thing on earth that I wanted to be. I'd rather have been dead. I started out as just a wannabe surfer from California who had a boring desk job where I stared at pictures of the men that I _wanted_ to be:

Muscular.

Smooth.

I wanted to be the one with the dirty-blonde hair and the huge pecs with the huge… well, you know where I'm getting at…

The name's Brad and I'm a pretty simple guy. I'm nothing special and I'm no one in particular. I'm just a guy trying to get on with my life in the hell that is the United States of America.

That's who I _was_, anyway.

I always wanted to be secure and have a good job. And I did, you know? Like, it wasn't anything special; I hated the place! Everyone was always so gray and boring and business. I wanted to be free… and I got my 'wish', no matter what kind of hell I had to go through to get to it.

You know, some people are absolutely cursed. Their lives were _meant_ to be screwed up and they had absolutely zip to do with it. I'm not about to say I'm one of those guys, but I can't say I was blessed with a loving family:

Dad's a drunk. He used to get fired regularly in my childhood because of it; he'd go to work drunk and come home drunk on a near-daily basis, but he was one of those tired-drunks. Came home and passed out on the couch like some kinda huge lump.

Mom's got a lot on her plate. Despite my dad's constant job-loss, she was a stay-at-home mother and took care of my sister and I. Even though I _did_ have someone to take care of me, it was a shitty experience. I'm not about to get into that, though; I have no memories worth sharing with that woman.

My youngest and only sibling, my sister, her identity is unknown to me; after she turned eighteen and saved enough money up from her fast food job, she skipped town and changed her name. Haven't seen her since. I don't blame her, either; if mom had done what she did to her to _me_, I'd be getting the hell out of town, too.

Twenty-four is a young age to die, isn't it? In most people's terms, people who die that young are either plagued with a disease that rules their lives, victims of a tragedy, or maybe even both.

My death was not planned, but it was no accident.

I had gotten used to my father's alcoholic fits of rage ever since my childhood. While I was able to avoid it for the most part, That night, the night of October 10th, was the date of my demise.

However, on the flip-side of that coin, it was the beginning of my birth… or, not necessarily a birth, but a new beginning.

I spent more time than I could count in darkness after the final bottle hit my head, courtesy of the woman that I couldn't even seem to call my mother. She hadn't meant to, and even though I begged myself to believe that, I couldn't seem to do so. Deep down, I think I thought that she had _wanted_ me to perish so that I didn't have to see what my father was and what he could turn into any longer. It was a mercy killing, but one that didn't need to be done.

From that moment on, I relived every memory, every feeling, and every moment of my twenty-four year old life through thought, not action.

Then, my eyes flew open at the moment the darkness should have looped around once more; when my final memory drew to an end. In that instant, it was beginning again. Not my life, but someone else's.

The sky; it was such a beautiful grade of blue. Not a cloud drifted into my sight as I lay face-up, gazing at it. There was a moment of peace before I started to feel something that I hadn't seemed to feel for a very long time; pain. My whole body began to convulse as my memories began to escape me:

My first kiss – gone.

Graduating high school – it never happened.

My girlfriend – forgot her name, her face… even her phone number!

My history – I never existed.

My identity – I am a blank slate.

It was all gone within a moment, and I was stuck, shivering in my own skin. It was a warm color now; almost like the one that I used to get whilst getting tanned in the Californian sun… but I got the sense that it was permanent.

I am now a blank slate with nothing to cling onto. Even the sky knew this; it openly mocked me. It knew that I had just lost _everything_ that I could grasp onto; I could no longer hold anything close to my heart and it felt as though I had nothing to fall back upon… not even the memories that I knew I had previously possessed.

I am no longer to be called "Brad" like I was mere lifetimes ago. With my new body, name, and life, I am not allowed to become the failure that "Brad" was before me. I am no longer the stupid kid who wanted a way out, a way to become a free soul. Brad was the simple guy, the normal Californian who wished to be free amongst the waters of the Pacific Ocean. From that October 10th and beyond, I became a new person; someone with an entirely different set of advantages and disadvantages as "Brad" had.

I am no longer a simple man.

I am now the most complex of them all.

_Xanxus._

* * *

><p><span>Q&amp;A:<span>

**What is with this introduction?**

I decided that, instead of an actual typical death scene, I'd go ahead and introduce you all to Brad's personality early on (which, personally, is "dark, yet a bit cook-y"). I didn't really want to write what would be my millionth death scene, so… yeah, that's all. I'm just here… trying new things… I made it short and sweet as well!

**Important:**** What is with that chapter title thing?**

Well, I've decided that I'm going to copy off of myself and my "Flowers" idea and name all chapter-things after liquor products and give the readers a run-down on the particular piece of liquor I select. They're in no particular order and more-or-less random. This one is going to be in-depth. **Any** **brands or companies mentioned in the chapter names/descriptions do not belong to me nor am I affiliated with them, and all information displayed is off of the internet site tcbeer dot com **–without spaces and such, you know-!

**What about your other stories? **

My least favorite question. Nothing is _(so far…)_ abandoned, and I don't usually get ideas this good. This one is _definitely_ a keeper… but now I have to fit it into my schedule before people rage-PM me! I'm not sure as to how often I'm going to update this one (because the plot is still fairly new to me and I need to work out some kinks and everything so that it flows smoothly), but hopefully I can come out with another chapter soon. As for the rest of my stories (except for "Flowers"), they are also undergoing changes to their plots and the long and tedious efforts of editing. There is more information on my profile about that. Rest assured, I'm having fun. For now. Until someone asks this question. Then I won't be having fun.

**Where the hell did you think of the name "Brad"?**

I thought it was a simple name for a simple guy. Brad is no one in particular; he is a figment of my imagination and… now, yours too.

**Is this story going to be in third person like your other one?**

I'm going to try to go back to first-person with this one. In this case, I think that it'll work out.

**Does he know anything about KHR?**

Nah, I've always thought that that was boring. Knowing everything about the plot of a story just seems to take the element of surprise out of it… so, rest assured, "Brad" knows nothing.

* * *

><p><span><em>Author's Notes:<em>

The _original_ plan was for Xanxus to be female, but… I thought that was getting a little… you know, old. Hopefully my take on this is… refreshing, to say the least! I know it's a bit overdone, but this is Fanfiction. It could always be worse.

Feel free to check out other stories by me!

Hopefully next chapter will be a bit longer; I hate having long A/Ns with short chapters… besides, I have a lot to share for next chapter!

I'm still not too sure on the title… I'll plan on fixing that if I can use my head to figure a new one. XXX just seems… meh.

Thank you for reading!

Reviews are _the_ driving force of updates; I do appreciate them, and I try to answer all of the ones that are not rushed/or Guest reviews! :D Thank you to all in advance who do so!

~Teafully~


	2. Newcastle

**Posted: **November 13th, 2014

**Times Edited: **0

**Last Edited: **Never.

**Thank you to user Gemini Wonderland for being my 1****st**** reviewer! :D**

_Warning: Foul language, frequent (I mean, throughout the whole story) mentions of alcohol and crude descriptions of alcoholics that are not intended whatsoever to be offensive or necessarily true. Alcoholism is not the way to go, and if you or someone you know is suffering from this horrible way of life, please get some professional help before the lives of you, someone you know, or innocent family members and friends are ruined beyond repair._

* * *

><p><em><span>Flashback:<span>_

_I am no longer to be called "Brad" like I was mere lifetimes ago. With my new body, name, and life, I am not allowed to become the failure that "Brad" was before me. I am no longer the stupid kid who wanted a way out, a way to become a free soul. Brad was the simple guy, the normal Californian who wished to be free amongst the waters of the Pacific Ocean. From that October 10th and beyond, I became a new person; someone with an entirely different set of advantages and disadvantages as "Brad" had._

_I am no longer a simple man._

_I am now the most complex of them all._

_Xanxus._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Two: Newcastle<span>

_ABV (Alcohol By Volume):__ 4.70%_

_Style:__ English Brown Ale_

_Color:__ Brown_

_Description:__ Reddish-brown in color, soft to the palate and just enough elegant English hops to offset the delicate caramel maltiness. Brewed with English pale and dark caramel malt, Newcastle is actually a blend of two separate beers. First commercially available in 1927, it is still the most popular bottled English beer and is one of the most recognizable brews in the world._

* * *

><p>I watched the cars drift by as freely as the river itself. It was not an anomaly that ceased throughout the day, or ever for that matter. My mother stirred beside me, shivering in the thin wrap that laced along her body. She looked even more fragile and thin than ever.<p>

We didn't choose the street life; it chose us.

My mother had been tight with money for as long as I could remember. All she could to keep my five-year-old self alive was give me the largest cuts of whatever grime we could find and stuff down our throats. It was the best that she could do, and I could sense that from her.

I love my mother.

The cold, hard reality that I could do absolutely nothing to help her was crushing. It gave off the assumption to my unconscious mind that I was trapped. Trapped with nowhere to run and no way to support my small family.

At five years old, that's one hell of a responsibility.

Visions of food and unnecessary spoils begun to cloud my thoughts; stealing had been something that I had tried to resist to the point of physically restraining myself. I did not go through the busy parts of town where the grocery stores were because I knew that my feral mind would force itself to do things that I wouldn't have wanted.

I gently nudged my sleeping mother as the wind picked up; snow was on its way, and we needed to get some shelter soon; else we would be left on the side of the street to get pneumonia and those with mere cents to spare would walk around us like we're a pile of spilled food on the sidewalk.

My mother stirred once more, and I held out my hand to her as I had many times before. She took it and furiously inscribed letters into my hand with her bony index finger:

_Do_

_We_

_Have_

_To_

_Go_

_So_

_Soon_

_?_

I nodded to her when she looked up from my hand, and she stood up quietly beside me. I supported her the best I could; her bones began to get frail in the cold weather, and at times I could almost hear them creak.

Off we went into the alleyways; it was the best way to get around town without spotting any 'normal' civilians who did not have to live out in the cold like we did. It prevented jealousy and envy, which mother had taught me would only swallow you up until there was nothing left. I can only assume that she felt that way at one point in time, but I would never ask her to tell her story. My lack of curiosity is something that I will always come to regret.

Regardless of what she told me and how I needed to count my blessings and be thankful that I was alive, I felt deep-seeded hatred within me anyway:

_Why did we have to be poor? _

_Why couldn't this be someone else's fate?_

_Why is my mother deaf; isn't there some way to have her hear her own voice? My voice? Why did she have to suffer? Why does she have the burden of taking care of me?_

I harbored no hatred for my loving mother; she did the best that she could for me any time she could and in any way. I hated only her condition and the thought of all that she had lost. I would never see the light in her eyes that other parents had when their children spoke to them. I could only use her hand to inscribe letters into it so that she could understand what was on my mind.

Soon, the anger died away and fatigue took its place. My stomach was hollow with hunger and tiredness like it always was; I didn't usually notice it, but when we had to get on the move, it was as if I was attempting to tap into strength that I did not have.

We trudged through grimy water that was beginning to freeze, and the usual smell from the dumpsters that we passed by was beginning to fade, and soon, our own scents would fade as well. It was only a natural occurrence in nature.

A car honked its horn in the distance and I listened to the hum of the voices from the nearby streets.

_If only she could hear them, too._

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry; we don't accept those who have no money."<p>

The polite woman at the reception counter to the only inn with open rooms in town stared at me with obvious pity. This is the sole reason that my mother and I do not go to places where those more fortunate can see us; the pity gets old. If they _really_ pitied us, they would help us.

_Living_

_Off_

_Of _

_Pity_

_Will_

_Not_

_Help_

_Us_

_._

Mother inscribed onto my back, lacing her wrinkly hand around my cold arm as we headed out of the lobby, shying away from the looks of people with nice handbags and suits and ties.

They are not used to seeing those less fortunate; those who can hardly find any clothes at all to wear. A woman and a little boy in rags were often given judgment because of the mother's lack of tenacity to find a job. In our case, no one will hire my mother, who cannot communicate regularly with anyone other than me. No one else can read her scribbles in their heads like I can.

I quickly found a route behind this inn that escaped into another alleyway which led elsewhere. My mother clung to my rags as the wind grew stronger, making it much harder to breathe. A cough wracked my body as I forced myself to keep going for my mother. If I let her see how tired I was, she would make us stop and we would never find warm shelter in time.

_Xanxus_

_Where _

_Are_

_We_

_Going _

_Now_

_?_

My mother asked me, allowing her reddish-brown eyes to blink slowly and lifting them up to the sky, uttering a silent prayer that only she could hear. I waited for her to hold out her hand out, but she never did.

_Xanxus._

What a curious name; mother told me that she had named me that when I was hardly two years old. She said she couldn't decide which letter was her favorite in the alphabet until then, and she said she made up the rest. She saw the letter 'X' as powerful and that it would have power that no one else could hold. That's why, she says, she gave me two in my name.

According to her, I was a beacon of strength and someone who could change the world. In my mind, that was practically impossible, given our situation. I could not even hope to find my mother and I a comfortable place to sleep as snow approached us rapidly. How could I do anything greater than help my family survive?

_Here_

_._

I waited for my mother to inscribe more on my back, but she had already taken a liking to a space between two dumpsters and she used one of the lids to place between the two, blocking out the sky from our view. Suddenly, it felt much more home-y to me. A confined space just for the two of us.

_What_

_About_

_A_

_Warm_

_Shelter_

_?_

I asked her, but she shook her head, grabbing at my hand:

_It_

_Is_

_Always_

_Warm_

_When_

_We_

_Are_

_Together_

_. _

Her words warmed me for a brief moment as we began to settle in against the two grimy dumpsters and the stone wall behind us. While we had no other lid to shelter us from the possibility of prying eyes, I could have cared less. My mother and I were together and we always would be.

At least, that was the impression I was under… everything changed the next morning, and I would trade my entire life to undo my mistake.

* * *

><p>I woke up, feeling the cold enrapture me from my sleepy trace. I stared all around, seeing flurries of snow pass by my mother and I on their way to who-knows-where. Her soft snores were the only thing that I could hear above the quiet wind. It only seemed to be louder because of the confined space that we were in.<p>

It didn't take long for my ungrateful, angry thoughts to crowd my mind once again:

_I'm tired of living on the streets._

_I hate being cold and helpless out here._

_These rags are disgusting._

_Why do I need to take care of my mother?_

_Why do I not have a father to look up to; someone else who could take care of my mother and I?_

While they say that hate is a consuming emotion, I felt it warm me the same way that my mother's smile could. It was something that I couldn't live without, and it warmed me up from the hairs on my head to the nails on my toes. I took a deep breath, and a strong fire appeared on the palm of my hand, levitating just above it that it warmed it and I up.

Careful not to wake my mother up, I took another deep breath and focused on my hand, and the flame grew bigger. It licked at the snow that was still falling all around me, and the pure snow seemed to melt at even the prospect of having my flame near it. Its bright orange color was mixed in with red, as if strength did not come without bloodshed and tragedy.

A gasp of surprise came from my mother, who had begun to stir, but was now hovering over me and putting her hands as close to the fire that I had produced to warm them. The look of pure joy on her wrinkly and tired face was enough to calm me down. The flame soon vanished, and she looked at me questionably before giving me a hug, combing her fingers through my thick black hair.

_I'm _

_So_

_Proud_

_Of_

_You_

_._

She wrote to me, burying her nose in my hair and allowing her arms to curl around me. For a moment, I was no longer trapped like our positions would have suggested. I was free, if even for a brief moment. I was free from our poverty, free from the pity, free from these damned rags, free from it all!

I wanted nothing more for my mother to share this warmth that I produced, the warmth that had come from inside me, but it would no longer appear. Every time I thought of my mother or if she was beside me, I could not produce that flame even if I tried.

_I _

_Love_

_You_

_._

I told her, whispering it aloud in the same pace of which I scribbled it to her on her back. If only she could have heard the feeling in my voice, the meaning of which I had put behind those words. Without her even having to clarify it, she had said it back to me through her actions, continuing to squeeze me tightly.

Little did I know that she was not just squeezing me because she loved me. There was another reason behind it, and I did not realize it until that night.

* * *

><p>Multiple times had my mother raced back and forth between some place today; claiming that she was getting us food and coming back without a trace, or looking for blankets that people could spare or ones that had been thrown away or lost.<p>

It was beginning to become evening, and it was getting dark out. The chill had begun to set in, and I could hardly keep from shivering. No matter how many times I tried to produce the flame that was inside of me, it would not come out of the palm of my hand.

I looked up from our garbage haven to see my mother racing toward me, but there was another person just behind her. He was quite a deal older than her, but he did not look like any sort of threat.

My mother took my hand and furiously inscribed into it:

_I've _

_Found_

_Someone_

_Who_

_Can_

_Take_

_Care_

_Of_

_You_

_!_

Despite the cold, confusion wrapped itself around my head and distorted everything that was in front of me. What was she on about?

"Hello, young one. I have been informed that there is something very special about you."

The man smiled in such a friendly way that emitted pity from every angle.

_I __hate__ the way that they look at me. I __hate__ that stare._

I took a deep breath and the warmth took over my body once more, and a small flame, the same one that I was unable to duplicate, appeared just above the palm of my hand. The man stared at me and his eyebrows rose, as if I had just disappeared into thin air. He turned his head toward my mother, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet on the cold pavement.

She looked more excited than I had ever seen her, but it confused me. What was so special about the way I could warm myself and those around me?

"It is just as your mother said, young one," the man said, his friendly but pity-filled brown eyes bore into mine. From the rare times that I got to stand in front of the mirror, I knew that my eyes were the same reddish color that hers were. "You were born with a very special ability."

I watched him begin to approach the car and he motioned me to follow, but when I turned back to my mother to see if she would follow as well, she stood motionless, watching me with a smile on her face. This particular smile was not one that I got to see often.

She took me by the hand and smiled, stroking it, before scribbling anything. When she did, everything suddenly made sense in the cruelest way:

_He _

_Will_

_Take_

_Care _

_Of_

_You_

_Xanxus_

_. _

I shuffled away from her grasp and grabbed her hand forcefully. Surely this entire thing was a joke?

_Are_

_You_

_Coming_

_With _

_Me_

_?_

I waited for her to nod and smile at me like she always did when I asked her things like this, but her eyebrows crinkled up as if she had no idea what to say. Then, she shook her head slowly and somberly. Taking my hand, she traced the last thing that she allowed herself to say to me.

_I_

_Love_

_You_

_._

_Goodbye_

_Xanxus_

_._

I waited for anger to arise from within me, but it never came. I was left without that warmth, but I was becoming closer and closer with the cold feeling that I knew to be grief. There was no hate in the grief that I felt. I did not want to go with this stranger if my mother was not allowed to come, but she took my hand forcefully and led me up to the stranger, whose car was parked only paces away.

Before she handed me off to him, she traced one sole word into my palm:

_Goodbye_

_._

My mother stepped away from me, and this man led me over to the car and helped me inside. Never before had I sat on such plush seats, but I ignored that as I looked out of the rolled-down window at my mother, who stood there and waved, making a gesture that looked like she was blowing a kiss at me.

_How can I leave her here? Why can't he take both of us?_

It was too late, as the car made this horrible sound; the engine had started up, and the car was beginning to move.

My bottom lip began to tremble, and I stared helplessly as my mother's hand wandered up to her mouth, and she covered it so that I could not see if her lip trembled as mine did. Her left hand rose to wave at me, and I took a deep breath:

"I love you!"

The words tumbled from my mouth and I found myself repeating them to her. I thought I saw a tear in her eye, but I was too far away to tell now. I felt my own tears drench me and the snot billow out of my nose, but I screamed those three words until my mother was out of sight.

It really is a shame, knowing that she did not hear them.

I never forgave myself for leaving her that day, but I promised myself that one day, I would find her. I would find her and take her to wherever this man was taking me.

Until then, my self-hatred would consume me and guilt would suffocate me until, just as my mother predicted, there would be nothing left.

* * *

><p><span>Q&amp;A:<span>

**What about your other stories?**

…but I like this one! D:

**WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO MY FEELS?**

I did it to my feels, too!

**Why did you make Xanxus/Brad's mother deaf?**

I couldn't resist making Xanxus/Brad's mother deaf; in a sense, I guess it interests me. My mom's brother (my uncle) is deaf and my mom told me stories about him rebelling because he absolutely hated it but he couldn't change it. He married a deaf woman (my aunt) whose entire family is deaf except for their children (my cousins). They can both hear. _INTERESTING_. Also, I don't know a thing about sign language, so I decided that writing on hands was equally interesting and engaging and a good substitute.

**Will canon!Xanxus's "brothers" be in this one?**

Oh.

_Hell._

Yeah.

**Where the dialogue at?**

I'll get to that next chapter; I have noticed the severe lack of dialogue, but I only did that for the beginning part because of everything that I needed to describe. I hope no one minded that; I'm sorry that it may have seemed a bit boring, but I personally loved my own take on this chapter.

* * *

><p><span><em>Author's Notes:<em>

I didn't even expect anyone to like this one, so can I say that I'm pleasantly surprised? Like, honestly… what. I love you all!

I am exceptionally proud of this chapter, believe it or not.

Changed the title like I said I would… ABC sounds so much better!

I'm so pumped for this… so much so that I've put off updating "Flowers" (which has been my main story for… you know, since March) in favor of this one. I'm lovin' it.

Loving all of you who bother to review; I mean… I truly didn't expect _anything_! Thank you once more, and be sure to check out other stories by me! I answer all reviews that are not done via Guest and those who take the time to do so thoroughly! Thank you in advance!

~Teafully~


	3. Abita Amber

**Posted:** January 18th, 2015

**Times Edited: **0

**Last Edited: **Never.

**Thank you to user ****Harmonic Bunny (Guest) ****for being my 10****th**** reviewer! :D**

**Thank you to user Skylarks and Skulls for being my 20****th**** reviewer! :D**

_Warning: Foul language, hateful words, action, detachment, weapons, and frequent (I mean, throughout the whole story) mentions of alcohol and crude descriptions of alcoholics that are not intended whatsoever to be offensive or necessarily true. Alcoholism is not the way to go, and if you or someone you know is suffering from this horrible way of life, please get some professional help before the lives of you, someone you know, or innocent family members and friends are ruined beyond repair._

* * *

><p><em><span>Flashback:<span>_

_My bottom lip began to tremble, and I stared helplessly as my mother's hand wandered up to her mouth, and she covered it so that I could not see if her lip trembled as mine did. Her left hand rose to wave at me, and I took a deep breath:_

"_I love you!"_

_The words tumbled from my mouth and I found myself repeating them to her. I thought I saw a tear in her eye, but I was too far away to tell now. I felt my own tears drench me and the snot billow out of my nose, but I screamed those three words until my mother was out of sight._

_It really is a shame, knowing that she did not hear them._

_I never forgave myself for leaving her that day, but I promised myself that one day, I would find her. I would find her and take her to wherever this man was taking me._

_Until then, my self-hatred would consume me and guilt would suffocate me until, just as my mother predicted, there would be nothing left._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Three: Abita Amber<span>

_ABV (Alcohol by Volume):__ 4.5%_

_Style:__ Lager_

_Color:__ Amber_

_Description:__ Amber is a Munich style lager brewed with crystal malt and Perle hops. It has a smooth, malty, slightly caramel flavor and a rich amber color. Abita Amber is the flagship beer offered by the brewery and continues to be the leading seller._

* * *

><p>The years passed me by quicker than I had ever anticipated. The yearning for my mother, the only one who had even bothered to think that I was even worth anyone's time, had slowly dwindled away to a nightly aching. She continued to haunt my dreams with her natural, feral scent. Her last words to me continued to linger on the palm of my left hand.<p>

Most of these years were filled with lessons on how to act as if I had truly been brought up in the royalty that was my new family. I now had a father and three elder brothers. Minus the absence of my mother, I predicted that my new family would bring me much more happiness than the filthy lifestyle that my mother and I had gotten used to.

I never had very many friends at school; my primitive instincts were to push people away. I ate alone at lunch. I asked to do independent projects. The other kids were wary of me because of my size; as I began to eat better in my new environment, I grew to be 158 centimeters by the time I was ten. I never played any sports, even though various teachers recommended me to do so.

It's not like my grades would have even permitted me to do so; I was by no means studious enough to balance my grades and another activity. I even had remedial classes for a couple of years before a private tutor was hired for me.

My school life was nothing special; if anything, it was only a pastime. My days were spent otherwise attending parties that I had no idea what they were for and accompanying my brothers and my father on expensive trips that they claimed important but would never tell me the reason behind them until I figured out the truth for myself:

He, my new father, was the leader of an organization otherwise known as the Mafia. It never affected my way of thinking; the backwards way that we went about doing things (such as booking private flights and making sure that our safety was always ensured) never gave me a reason to worry in the slightest for my own security.

Beneath all of this, knowing that my mother may still be living out there gave me reason enough to feel more hate than I had ever previously felt about my situation. I often lashed out at my father, knowing that he could have very well taken my mother in as well. Over time, eleven years to be exact, I had shaped up to be a part of my new family whether I liked it or not… no matter how unwelcome I was.

* * *

><p>"We will be seated for supper now."<p>

My father, Timoteo, summoned my brothers and I to the large and lavish table for our supper with those seven words every day. I had become accustomed to this call, as I took my seat at the far-side of the long, decorated table. The smell of fresh vegetables and seasoned meat wafted up from the kitchen; the chefs would more than likely do a delectable job as always. In order to feed four growing men and an older man, these chefs had to nearly quadruple every serving… and that's not even _considering_ when company comes over.

"What's on the menu today?"

I turned my head to my youngest elder brother, Massimo. While he was merely a year older than me, he acted about three years younger. His graduation ceremony was already being planned in the background of our busy family, but he didn't seem to care. While he appeared to be quite laid-back, he was easily the brother with the most energy.

"It looks like pork loin today," my father politely addressed Massimo. They had gotten into a fight only this morning, and it appeared as if that fight was over now. "Take your seats."

I felt Massimo sit down beside me, his chair creaking slightly as he stretched. His hair slicked back uncomfortably; the gel that was plastered on his hair looked as if it would never let up. In contrast, I always allowed mine to go untamed.

"What have you been doing all day, Xanxus? Staring at the walls?" He joked as usual, cracking each and every joint in his left arm. We were never the best of friends, but since we were so close to each other in age, I always seemed to get stuck with him.

"I've been reading."

My simple replies were never enough for him, and even if we grew up together, that didn't stop him from pulling a certain underhanded card:

"No one _else_ in our family reads! _Christ_, and–"

"That's _enough_," Timoteo split us apart with his scathing tone. "Leave him, Massimo."

Regardless about how I felt about my new father, I was always grateful for the way he took charge when we fought. He knew how easily I would lose my temper, and all I wished to do was eat in peace today.

"I apologize for my late arrival," my eldest brother Federico's deep voice came from another room, saving us from the awkward fragmented tension from a pending fight. "The traffic is getting worse and worse nowadays."

Federico, of all of my brothers, was my favorite. I had always looked up to him, and even Timoteo seemed to think there was something special about him. Federico is the favorite for obvious reasons, and even seems to be the first in line as the recipient of the family "business". His gentle brown eyes were always optimistic, regardless of whatever was going on, and he always seemed to have a back-up plan.

"Ah, I understand. After all, you're not the last to the table."

Father had the same gentle, brown eyes as Federico, and it was especially prominent when they were in the same room as one another. Their gentle outlooks were nearly identical and at the same time, they both were very different beings.

"Ah shit – late again, I'm sorry, Pops."

I looked up to see Federico's rival and the second-born in the family: Enrico. His sharp and intimidating eyes rolled back and forth to every member sitting at the table and they eventually landed upon me. He never took lightly that I was an outsider to this family, and he always went to the greatest lengths to make sure that I felt that way.

I never liked him.

"You should know better than to swear at the table," My father scowled from afar, his gentle eyes turning hard. "Enrico, where have you been?"

Enrico's thin button-up shirt had an obvious tear at his left arm. It was far from clean, and a miniscule droplet of blood looked as if it had oozed through.

"I've been out," he improvised, morphing his facial features to match the bullshit he was spewing. "I caught my shirt on a tree while walking. The damn things have been neglected all around this damn country; somebody damn-well better trim them before somebody's eyes go missin'."

The response was an obvious cop-out; we all knew where he had been. Even though we particularly had no interest in anything outside of the family business, Enrico was always out doing things that he shouldn't. Particularly things that could get him arrested.

"You _need_ to be more responsible," Federico lectured, grimacing when he met Timoteo's angry gaze before continuing: "With all of this trouble about, we don't need for you to get put somewhere we can't get you out of."

Enrico's pierced ear glistened in the faint light as he glared at Federico, but he did not dare to act on any of his angry thoughts… at least, not in front of Timoteo. The repercussions for being unprofessional would be tripled because of his age and therefore responsibilities in this family. It was a near-daily occurrence that Enrico and Federico proved who was more fit to take over the family business.

I, however, stayed quiet as the birds in the winter; gracefully flying overhead to a place that did not involve the coldness and loneliness of the snow. Enrico was but a hunter looking for lonely winter game, and I was his favorite dish.

We ate dinner in silence that night until every man had had their fill and went on their ways to different parts of the mansion until I was the last one at the table. The mere thought of this loneliness, the feeling that I was worth nothing but the garbage that would be fed to the rats in the sewers, drowned me just like this every night.

I am terrified.

I am terrified of the feeling that I will never have enough.

I am terrified of feeling empty.

* * *

><p>I stared at the glistening tile in my own personal shower. It shone with the clear water that I had just showered with and pooled at my feet. I stood in the shower, bare and true, as the pounding of my ears began once again.<p>

The thoughts swirled around my head, hissing threats and statements that had nothing to do with my life or the way that it ever was. None of the thoughts seemed to make any kind of sense, as they swirled in and out of my ears in an attempt to sway my mood.

"I have everything now, but why do I feel so…?"

I had begun to question myself, but that was when someone slammed their fists upon the door.

Quickly, I hustled to get even partially dressed and forgot about the water dripping off of my dark hair. The droplets temporarily blinded me as I pulled my slacks up to just below my naval.

"Open the damned door, Xanxus!"

My heart dropped down to my stomach as the gruff, angry voice of Enrico filled my ears. My options were quite simple: ignore him, indulge him, or run away.

If I ignored him, he would come in anyway and leave when he was finished with whatever he wanted.

If I indulged him, he would only come to my door to piss me off more often… or even possibly come with an impossible request.

If I ran away…

Who the hell am I kidding? I've never fucking run away from a damn thing in my life.

Regardless of what I truly wanted to do, I crept up to the door and slowly opened it, revealing my adoptive brother staring straight through me, as if I was a piece of saran wrap covering his favorite food.

"Where the hell's my phone at?"

Enrico barged past me, the tension in his body ripping through the calmness of my room.

I tilted my head sideways.

His phone?

I hadn't even touched it. I had no idea where the hell it was, or why the hell he'd come in _my_ room to look for it. If anything, my little space should have been the last place that he'd thought to look for it.

My room was nothing short of a space only for me; my ornate furnishings were well-cared for, and my bed was messy but not disgusting. I always made sure to keep my space clean in memory of my mother. The dirtiness that we called home all those years ago still lingered in my mind from time to time, and a messy room would be like spitting on my loving mother's face in light of our unfortunate time together.

"Oh hell, Xanxus! Why don't you just close the damn door?"

Enrico's intimidating features bore into me now, and I had no way of escaping without doing his bidding. I edged toward the door, closing it with a swift kick, and Enrico visibly relaxed. My arms tingled ominously as I waited for him to speak again.

"I'm sick and tired of being looked at as an irresponsible piece of shit, Xanxus. I hate everything about him; he's older, he's better… but it's only because father won't give me a damn chance!"

The dim lighting in my room added to the ominous feeling that radiated off of my adoptive brother. My mind scrambled for a way to react, but I could hardly even piece together what he was saying.

"Now, I'm gonna get that chance. You're comin' with me to do it, too."

What the hell did he even mean?

"For what?" The words tumbled out of my mouth as Enrico grabbed me and began to shove me toward the door. Enrico placed his hand, one that still had a droplet of dried blood on his knuckle.

"You're gonna be the witness."

* * *

><p>I laid back in Enrico's old pickup truck; the same one that he had convinced Timoteo to buy for 'undercover stuff' but had become his own personal vehicle. It was stripped of all paint whatsoever, leaving the metal to develop rust on all parts of the surface. The leather seats were ripped and uncomfortable. The springs under the cushion of the seat scrunched up under my weight and bit back at me.<p>

"We gotta make a few errands," Enrico hopped in beside me and turned the key in the ignition. "Then we'll come back and the fun will have begun."

I scrambled for a seatbelt as Enrico took off down the street, barreling over a curb and almost sending us into a fishtail. The fire in his intense gaze startled me; Enrico was the one in my adoptive family that would never get excited about anything but breaking the law and getting away with it.

I kept my mouth shut.

If I voiced any concern, I wasn't quite sure what he would do to me. Since he was also my older brother, going against him would be somewhat like disobeying Timoteo.

The sputtering truck sped past parked cars as we delved deeper into the lit city of Venice. Bustling with cars and otherwise people out to have a good time, I felt unease lift the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Why the hell is everyone driving like they've got a stick up their asses?" Enrico screeched as he hit the brakes hard when someone cut him in the steady build-up of traffic. "God dammit!"

I watched the lights of the city flicker as we drove around. Apartment window's lights turned off randomly. The neon signs of some businesses turned off. The whole city was falling asleep one by one, and yet, it still moved.

"Hell yes!" Enrico suddenly burst out as we pulled a hard left and went over another curb into a seemingly-abandoned parking lot. He put the truck into park and turned the key in the ignition the opposite way to turn it off. "Here's our little errand."

I peered out of the dirty windshield to see an alleyway that led up to a single white door with a single light on over it. I couldn't tell if the dark spots were dents or just holes in my eyesight, but Enrico didn't give me a chance to wonder.

"Hurry up! We've gotta pull this shit off by daybreak!"

Enrico's wide-set shoulders bobbed up and down as he raced toward the lit door, and I followed him as fast as I could, dodging sharp gravel and cigarette butts in light of my bare feet. Enrico swung the door open with a metallic moan that pierced the cloudless sky.

I squinted into the darkness as the machine-cooled air swept over the both of us. There wasn't anything to see, and I realized that we were staring straight at a wall.

"Mano, hook us up!"

Enrico dashed inside, leaving me in the darkness as the door squawked closed. I followed the sound of his footsteps along the dark hall until I watched his face light up as a light turned on.

"We're going through with it today. I need to hear your alibi that you've practiced."

I flinched against the harsh fluorescent lights and I stepped up beside my adoptive brother, wondering exactly what the hell he was getting at.

"I wadn't here; I wuz gettin' a drink at Mar's Pub."

A man with a short stubble of a beard and beady eyes glared down at us as he recited a clearly-practiced lie. I could see it in his face.

"Who's dis?" The man's gaze flitted over me and back to Enrico, who hadn't even bothered to explain.

"One of my brothers. He's gonna help me get the job done."

_Job?_

I opened my mouth but quickly shut it in light of the stupid question.

_What job? Am I helping him? Am I a pawn? A scapegoat? And for what?_

"Ah, dat. Here I wuz thinkin' you'd never find nobody to help you with it. Kid looks like a murderer, too."

_Murder?_

Sure, I knew what it was. What it meant, what this whole 'errand' meant, was new to me. Why was Enrico going so far as to murder? Murder who?

"Xanxus, is it past your goddamn bed time already? Wake the hell up and get your bulletproof armor on."

I snapped out of it, feeling my world begin to spin as I was handed a heavy vest. Enrico had already stripped himself of his shirt to equip it, but I stared at the hard fabric in my hand.

_Murder._

I am here with Enrico, my adoptive brother whom I had never truly liked in the first place, to _murder_ someone.

What a waste of time.

What a waste of life.

If mother knew that I was engaging in something so vile and forbidden, she would have regretted birthing me. She would have disowned me as her son.

My shirt flew off as I did as Enrico told me. The vest went on, the shirt went back on as well. All to the beat of my frantic thoughts.

"Hurry the hell up, Xanxus! Mano, get us the semi-autos that you showed me the other day!"

The bearded man hurried out of sight and I stood, staring ahead. I couldn't seem to move; the detached feeling that took over me pushed me to the side. Slowly, my own thoughts began to disappear one-by-one.

_Where the hell am I going? What the hell am I DOING?_

I watched from the outside looking in.

It was like watching a first-person television show.

It was uncomfortable.

It hurt.

I pushed it away, quickly shaking myself out of it and coming back to the front of my own consciousness.

That had never happened before, had it? The last time–

The last time.

The last time it happened, I was able to produce a flame made of both warmth and hate. The last time it happened, I was taken away from my mother forever. The last time it happened, I couldn't control my thoughts.

This time, it's different.

It is more than my thoughts this time.

"These'll do," Enrico approached me now, holding out a semi-automatic weapon to me. "Federico will be begging for mercy and he'll hand it all down to me. If he don't, he'll be six feet under."

The cold metal sent static up to my brain as I gripped the deadly weapon.

_Witness._

This is what he meant.

It was Federico all this time.

All Enrico wanted was power.

Power over me, power over others, power over the world.

He would have it all soon.

"We're going back to the truck. Wish us luck, Mano."

Enrico's slicked-back hair appeared to be sticking up once again, as if even the gel could not withstand the tension in the room. The fire in his eyes was fueled only by the prospect of the power he was about to receive. My adoptive brother, the one that I never necessarily liked, was nowhere to be seen.

I only saw the manifestation of hate.

Hate.

It is a necessity for the justifications of a crime, whether it be human crime or deity crime, it is only a scapegoat.

My feet tumbled over each other as I was met with the stuffy air of the city once the door metallically wailed shut behind me. The back of Enrico was turned to me, sauntering toward the truck that was parked at the beginning of the alleyway.

I watched his shoulders bob up and down in glee as he put a swagger in his step… and that's when I felt my own consciousness disconnect.

My feet moved forward.

Enrico turned around with a fire that died out when he met my gaze.

"What? You're not gonna pussy out, are you? Won't you be happier under me leading the business?"

I kept walking toward him.

_Stop._

I willed myself, wondering how all of this movement could be so involuntary.

"I hate you." My voice did not shake; the conviction with which I had spoken startled me. "I _hate_ you. You deserve to die."

_Is that my voice?_

My hands moved instinctively to the deadly weapon in my hand and I rose it.

"You wouldn't kill me," Enrico scoffed, but his eyes were filled to the brim with fear. "They'll know it was you. They'll know you did it, asswipe. Killing me won't solve sh-shit. It's Fed we gotta kill."

My finger wandered up to the trigger, but I willed myself to put the damn thing down. I've never even held a gun in my hand before, let alone used it. I had no idea what recoil felt like. I had no intention to experience it first-hand.

My next couple of moves still boggled my mind years after the incident, and how natural they felt disappointed the figment of my mother that I felt was still inside of me somewhere.

I pulled that trigger and allowed the recoil to shake every cell in my body from head to my bare toes on the gravel. I'm unsure how many times I fired at Enrico. I stopped when my body began to shake, and the more I watched his body spasm at my own hand, the more I shook.

My consciousness was not fully mine. There was something there, something covered deep inside of my own soul that had taken over and disposed of my adoptive brother.

The body lay in a heap against the gravel as the thick, musky scent of blood that never should be shed in the human body poured out of its multiple wounds. His head lay upright, staring up at the sky, as if he aspired to be there.

"Your hate is mine now."

My voice had no remorse. I could hardly believe that it was even my voice at all. I could hardly even process what had just happened. I _had_ been the witness.

Despite it all, I no longer felt empty for the moment. If anything, I felt hungrier than ever before. Hungrier to feed off of more hatred.

After all, I killed my brother. Who's next?

* * *

><p><span>Q&amp;A:<span>

…**Why?!**

It took a totally different turn than I'd expected for this whole story to go. I know what you mean.

**Did you put their ages in any type of order?**

Nah; I figured since I couldn't find anything on their ages since they hardly appeared anywhere, I would put my own spin on it. The way they are portrayed was my own personal take on them after viewing their wiki pages. I realize that many would think of them as being much older considering Timoteo's age… *shrug*. Having kids at fifty (yes, I know he's in his sixties right now and in his seventies later on) isn't impossible for a male, even though it isn't exactly ideal in most situations.

**How old is Brad/Xanxus?**

Well, last chapter, he was five years old. This is an eleven-year time-skip. Therefore, he is sixteen.

**Will Brad/Xanxus's mother make a comeback?**

Man, I haven't decided yet. I have room for that to go _both_ ways in this plot, so… I ain't even sure. For now, she is (cough, was) a support-character.

**Where are we at geographically?**

We are (and have been since the previous chapter) residing in Italia, my friends. In particular, we're in Venice.

**How different are things going to go in this story compared to canon?**

Ah man; if this was canon, it wouldn't be surprising in the least, would it? I don't want to rewrite canon whatsoever, so I'm not going to. Therefore, expect _some_ major changes. However, I want to make a few "important" events go… my way. You'll see what I mean. In fact, I think you've already seen what I meant. Evil authors are evil.

**(Off-topic, but) Update schedule?**

I've been thinking that this one should be pretty sporadic. As much as I love this idea, I think that me wanting to be perfect _with_ a deadline is _not_ working out (after all, the last update _was_ two months ago!).

* * *

><p><span><em>Author's Notes:<em>

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I hope it made somewhat sense. I hope it didn't feel too rushed; I'll go over it again later.

I'm not too sure about the new summary guys. It'll probably change soon… again.

Thank you to all of those who reviewed! :D

I also haven't had time to look back and edit like I usually do! I'll get on that!

Feel free to leave me a review; it is _extremely_ appreciated! Remember that I answer the reviews of those who take their time to do so (ie, more than "update soon pls") (because seriously; what do you say to that?!) ("okay"?) and those who are not Guests! :D Thank you in advance!

Now, I'll be working on "Flowers". If you read that, expect an update sometime soon! :D

~Teafully~


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